


Honeyed Date

by BarPurple



Series: Sherlolly Against the World [41]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Cuddling, F/M, First Date, Fluff, Honey, Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Sherlock has done many experiments with honey, but for this one he needs Molly’s help.





	Honeyed Date

Come to Baker Street after your shift – SH

I need your help with an experiment – SH

Please – SH

 

Molly wasn’t as surprised by the final text as she would have been a few months ago. Sherlock’s manners were still patchy, and totally absent during a case, but he was improving. It was the second text that had her puzzled. What experiment? As far as she knew he had taken no new body parts since she’d last cleared his flat a fortnight ago. She double checked the bodies currently in the morgue, but the only body with missing fingers was Mr Coltrane, and since he had lost those in an industrial accident quarter of a century before his death, she wouldn’t find those in the fridge at 221B. Of course, Sherlock and John had just finished a case involving fraud, so he could be experimenting with inks. Molly decided to grab extra gloves and a face shield along with the change of clothes from her locker, just in case Sherlock had found a way to improve anti-theft dye packs used by banks.

 

Molly arrived at Baker Street just as Mrs Hudson was leaving.

“Oh, hello Molly, dear,” – she glanced at Molly’s bag and clutched her chest in relief, - “No cooler I see, thank goodness. It’s been wonderful not having to worry about what’s lurking in the fridge, but I expect the salad drawer will be full of spleens and eyeballs by the end of next week.”

A taxi pulled up at the curb and a rather dapper gentleman got out and greeted Mrs Hudson with a smile and a small bow. She gave Molly’s arm a squeeze; “Oh, there’s my date, you have a good time, bye Molly!”

Mrs Hudson hurried away to greet her gentleman with a peck on the cheek. He helped her into the taxi and offered Molly a polite nod before climbing in himself. Molly watched the taxi pull away and muttered to herself; “Hello Molly. How are you? Oh, I’m very well thank you Mrs Hudson. And yourself?”

She shook her head and chuckled to herself, Mrs H was only ever that bubbly after a few herbal soothers, or if she was very excited about her new gentleman. Looks like Sherlock hadn’t revealed any unsavoury deductions about this one, yet. Molly headed into 221B and jogged up the stairs. She took her customary deep breath outside the door, which resulted in the traditional shout of; “Come on in Molly!”

“Hello Sherlock!”

Molly could hear him moving about in the kitchen, so she took a moment to look around, hoping to find a clue as to the experiment she was here to help with. The flat was its normal jumble of organized chaos, but an effort had been made to clear the coffee table. The only items on there at the moment were several wine bottles, each with a different coloured tape around their necks, filled with cloudy liquid that could be anything, and a closed notebook. Okay, not much to go on. Molly cocked her head and glanced under the sofa and was surprised to find empty space. Sherlock had actually tidied up; thinking about it she decided to be careful opening any cupboard doors, since his idea of tidying was the same as a pre-teen who just shoved everything out of sight and dealt with it when it erupted.

“Can you come and grab this tray, please?”

Molly dropped her bag and shucked off her coat before heading into the kitchen. This looked less like a chemistry lab than usual, in fact if it wasn’t for the microscope and rack of test tubes it could be mistaken for an ordinary kitchen. Sherlock greeted her with a warm smile and handed her a tray of tapas and picked up a second tray containing small wine glasses. He led them into the living room and nodded at her to place the tray on the table.

Molly cast an eye over the coffee table now loaded with food, wine glasses and bottles of what could be alcohol. She gave a little giggle; “Sherlock is this an experiment or a date?”

A week or so ago Sherlock had tentatively suggested that, if she was willing, they could begin dating with a view to pursuing a romantic entanglement. He’d been as nervous as a schoolboy when he’d asked if she’d still be interested in such a relationship with him and been very clear that his interest wasn’t for a case. He’d also taken pains to make explain that should she not want to alter their relationship, he would be in no way upset. (‘I am honoured to be in your friendzone Molly, and that will always be true.’) She’d told him he better ask her out on a date, and they could see how it went, which he probably would have done there and then if Greg hadn’t called with the news that another body had been found in the current case. She’d not minded, she’d waited long enough for Sherlock, so a few more days while they were up to their eyes in a case wasn’t going to put her off.

 

He ran his hand through his hair and said; “Erm, well this is part of an ongoing experiment, which is why I told you that, but it could also be considered as a date,” – he rolled his eyes, - “if your personal Venn diagram of science and romance differs from John’s.”

Molly smiled that he’d taken dating advice from his blogger; “John made a science romance Venn diagram?”

Sherlock used both hands to point to his crime wall, on opposite sides of the wall were two single pieces of paper with rough circles drawn in the middle.

“Science on the left, romance on the right, according to John this is the optimum overlap for the two,” – He twisted to face her, and from the corner of her eye she spotted flash of hesitation, - “Do you agree with John’s diagram?”

Molly hummed and bit her lip for a moment, “That is going to depend on exactly what is in those bottles.”

Sherlock’s face lit up as he pulled the cushions from the armchairs and encouraged Molly to sit down on the floor with him. He picked up one of the bottles; “This is my homebrewed mead.”

“You mead made, wait no, made mead?”

He slid the notebook across to her, flipping it open she found pages of Sherlock’s cramped scrawl detailing the process of mead brewing.

“Oh yes. You remember eight months ago the suspected murder case in Kent?”

“Was that the one that turned out to be an insurance scam?”

“Yes, tedious, but did allow me to meet an amazing beekeeper, Mr Brooks, a stunning wealth of knowledge about apiculture…”

Molly read his notes as Sherlock talked about the beekeeper who had clearly impressed him. He’d brewed six different meads, all using the same honey, but each with one variable, his scientific method was exacting as usual.

“The next stage is to test them for taste, to see which recipe is worth repeating, or improving on. That’s where I was hoping you would help, you have more experience with alcohol than I do and will insist that we stop before getting to the pissing in wardrobes stage.”

Molly cocked an eyebrow at him; “And I won’t let you go out on a case and end up in the drunk tank.”

He chuckled softly; “That is my hope, yes.”

She shifted on her cushion and thought for a moment. Sherlock had left the question of if this was a date or not up to her. This could be them enjoying a meal with a side of science as friends, or she could declare this as an official date, which would set the tone for any following dates. It was never going to be dinner and a movie with Sherlock. Molly looked at all the little diagrams of bees and hives that he’d doodled in the margins of his notebook. Bees were a passion for Sherlock and he was inviting her to share that passion with him. She got to her feet and dodged around the table to grab the science circle of John’s Venn diagram from the wall, she re-stuck over the romance circle so there was an overlap.

She turned back around to find Sherlock’s jaw hanging open. He quickly snapped his mouth closed and swallowed.

“So, we can call this our first date?”

She nodded and jumped a little as he bounced to his feet and rushed into the bathroom. Not quite the response she was expecting, but to be honest not much surprised her when it came to Sherlock. She sat down on the sofa with a sigh and waited. He returned a moment later with a bouquet of flowers.

“Now I understand that roses are considered traditional first date flowers, but I thought these would be more in keeping with the evening, and you like purple.”

He offered her the flowers. Molly let their fingers brush as she took them and saw a hint of a blush colour his cheeks.

“Lavender, forget-me-nots, and is this heather?”

“Yes, all bee friendly flowers.”

She inhaled the fragrance; “I love them thank you.”

Sherlock smiled, but appeared at a loss for what to do next, Molly nodded at the table; “Shall we get started on our buzz?”

He gave a groaning chuckle; “Right, I assume plenty of puns are on the cards for tonight?”

Molly gave him a wink; “I can behave, if you want.”

With another groan he dropped down on to the sofa next to her and reached for the first bottle.

“Okay, I didn’t know if you’d tried mead before,” – Molly shook her head, - “so I got this one as our control. Lindisfarne Mead, very popular, nice middle of the road flavour. Shall we?”

-x-x-x-

Two hours later Molly and Sherlock were sat on the floor, their backs against the sofa, their feet intertwined, having an intense discussion about all thing honey related. They had covered the history of the drink, and brewing techniques, but now the conversation had turned towards the silly.

“Sex holiday, well honeymoon, there’s a popular misconception…”

Molly snorted, “Isn’t it normally conception that’s associated with honeymoons?”

Sherlock flapped a hand at her with a smile, “Statistically speaking yes, but what I meant was there is a popular myth that the term honeymoon comes from a tradition that the newlyweds would drink a glass of mead each night for the first month of their marriage to ensure, sweetness and fertility I suppose.”

She shifted onto her knees and peered at the bottles on the coffee table, “Was red the one that tasted like paint stripper?”

“Yup, although I’m still not sure what you are basing that comparison on. It’s blue one we like.”

As Molly refilled their glasses Sherlock shifted around, rearranging the pillows they’d dragged into place to make the floor more comfortable. When she turned to hand him his glass, he’d settled himself with one leg sprawled out in front of him and the foot of the other planted on the floor, so his elbow was propped on his bent knee.

“Is, erm, is cuddling acceptable for a first date?”

Molly looked at the position he’d arranged himself into, there was a perfect space for her to sit between his legs and lean her back against his leg.

“Cuddling is fine for our first date, Sherlock.”

It took them a bit of wriggling to get comfortable, but once they were settled, Sherlock scrunched his nose and said; “Wasn’t there a moon made of honey in that American carton thing you watch?”

Molly had to think for a moment; “Wait, are you talking about Futurama?”

“Is that what is called? The one with the alcoholic robot and the purple haired cyclops?”

“You were stretched out on my sofa, in your mind palace when I was watching that. How do you remember that one episode?”

He gave a one shoulder shrug; “They were talking about bees, I pay attention for that,” – he caught a lock of her hair in his fingers, - “And it made you laugh, that’s very worthy of my attention as well.”

The air between them went thick. Molly licked her lips and watched Sherlock’s eyes follow the movement. She carefully put her glass down on the edge of the table.

“How do you feel about kissing on a first date, Sherlock?”

His tongue darted over his bottom lip; “Good, very good, with the whole idea.”

He leaned slightly towards her but hesitated until she moved her hand to his face and gently angled his head to bring them together. Closing the final gap between them was a mutual movement, as was the sigh that occurred when their lips met. Honey sweet and a bit messy, but absolutely perfect, until the door downstairs loudly opened, and Mrs Hudson’s voice echoed up the stairs as she wished her gentleman goodbye. Molly dropped her head on to Sherlock’s chest as he huffed about troublesome lady ladies. His hand stroked through her hair.

“It’s almost midnight, Mr Arkright got Hudders home before she turns into a pumpkin. We should do the same for you too.”

Molly traced a finger over the bare skin revealed by the open neck of his shirt; “I won’t turn in to a pumpkin. Toby has an automatic food and water dish, and I’m not at work tomorrow. I could stay.”

Sherlock made a small sound that could have been a whimper. He wriggled a little until Molly lifted her head and looked at him.

“I would very much like for you to stay, Molly. I can take the sofa, or we can share my bed, but you should know that after this much mead, erm, well, the spirit is oh so willing, but the flesh isn’t going to offer a good showing.”

She couldn’t help but smile, “I am in the same position, so how about you lend me a pair of pyjamas and we sleep, with maybe some cuddling?”

Sherlock gave her puppy dog eyes and a pout; “Maybe a bit more kissing too?”

Molly tapped a finger against his nose; “Why Mr Holmes, did you not deduce that a bit more kissing was a certainty?”

His hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her into his waiting lips, just before they met he whispered; “There is always something I miss, Doctor Hooper.”

Molly wound her fingers into his hair; “Good job you’ve got me to keep you right.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Molly.”

They didn’t make it to bed for another hour. Come the morning they were woken when Mrs Hudson wandering into the flat sounding far too cheerful s=for so early in the day.

“Hoo hoo! Oh, Sherlock what is all this mess? And don’t tell me you sent dear Molly home without her coat and bag last night.”

The mead had left Molly and Sherlock with syrupy thick heads, but they managed to share a smile as they heard Hudders sudden realisation.

“Oh! Oh, I see. Alright then dears, I’ll just leave you to it, let me know when you are decent, and I’ll make you breakfast.”

The door to the flat closed with a far too loud click and Sherlock muttered; “Just this once, I’m not your housekeeper.”

Molly batted his shoulder and snuggled into his side; “More sleep, teasing Mrs H later.”

He tugged the duvet snuggly around them; “Yes, honey.”


End file.
